


Coda: Relatively Speaking (1970-1979)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [316]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Frozen (2013), Game of Thrones (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Cuddling & Snuggling, Death from Old Age, Destiel - Freeform, Embarrassment, F/M, Gay Sex, Heaven, M/M, Nobility, Period Typical Attitudes, Pie, Reincarnation, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-25 19:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18267656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ The Holmes and Watson lineages continued; the slovenly seventies. There is more bigotry in Brunton, a slew of Fraser Macdonalds, and some inter-generational matters. A young girl weighs up the pros and cons of having too many brothers (or at least the cons) and two boys are coping with their parents being far too sappy. Oh, and Castiel and Dean are parted – but at least there is pie!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HopefulOne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulOne/gifts).



_(Harry Hawke, twenty-eight and named after his heroic soldier uncle, is the grandson of Baron Harry Hawke I who came to the cottage in 1933)._

**1970**

**Brunton Hall, Collingbourne Kingston, Wiltshire, England**

Mr. Louis Clive sauntered boldly into the room with his two sons behind him. His confidence lasted about three steps before he realized that not only was there the young lord waiting for him at the table, but said nobleman's five very muscular brothers were all lined up either side of the door he had just entered by, blocking any escape. His sons looked nervously at him.

“Mr. Clive”, Lord Hawke smiled sourly. “This will not take long. It concerns you cottage.”

The labourer had a bad feeling that he knew where this conversation was heading. The nobleman nodded slowly.

“It has been brought to our attention”, he said heavily, “that you and your sons have been making certain remarks about my brother Thor here because he chooses to live with another man. Seeing as you have not noticed, we are nearing the end of the _twentieth_ century, not the sixteenth. You and your sons here even cornered Thor and Tom in the pub recently and made certain threats against them. I am therefore compelled to tell you that we will not be renewing your tenancy when it expires at the end of this year.”

“Can he do that?” Charles Louis whispered.

“By waiting to the end of the year I am giving you more than sufficient notice”, Lord Harry said, now visibly angry. “Indeed, your threatening a member of my family gives me the legal right to throw you all out right now, but for the sake of your wife I am not going to do that. Although if your sons continue along their current path then we shall be having.... a further conversation. With them. Alone.”

Mr. Clive had no doubt as to what form that 'conversation' would likely take, from the looks the younger Hawkes were giving him and his family. He nodded to the nobleman and left the room quickly. 

He and his family left Brunton within the week.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

_(Fraser Macdonald II, seventy-eight, is the adoptive grandson of the original Fraser through the latter's son Ross, as well as the outgoing manager of the chain of molly-houses in London originally run by the original Sherlock's half-brother Campbell Kerr and later Sweyn Godfreyson)._

**1972**

**Eamont Bridge, Westmorland, England**

Gentlemen in their seventies were allowed to get emotional, so Fraser told himself as his grandson handed his great-grandson to him. Three Frasers together for the first (and with his failing health, perhaps the last) time. He wondered if his namesake the original was looking down on him from Heaven, although he suspected the old rogue was more likely in bed with his lover Chatton as he had spent much of his life. That was surely Heaven as far as he was concerned!

His eldest son Fraser III had been a soldier and had been killed the day after the D-Day landings. Fortunately the boy's wife Charlotte had been pregnant with their first child and the boy had been safely delivered and taken the traditional family name. Fraser IV was now the strapping twenty-eight-year-old fellow who had just handed him his first grandson, Fraser V. The baby had the same blond-ginger hair that, the old man knew, both his son and grandson had had when babies.

He looked across to where his other grandson Christopher was all but cuddling his boyfriend of some four years now, a handsome young buck who went by the unlikely name of Eugene Fitzherbert. There had been some fuss in the family because Chris had been briefly married to Eugene's horrible sister Edwina who had abandoned him shortly after giving birth to their twin sons, but it had soon died down. Eugene's father Eustace had recently retired from working in Fraser's molly-house empire which had been a bit of a disappointment; he had hoped the fellow might have been persuaded to take the whole shebang over one day but young Eugene, who was an actor of all things as well as being the dashing 'Flynn Rider' to his gentlemen clients, clearly had his father's abilities and with Christopher's help would make a good fist of things. Especially with a Macdonald under him (in both senses).

The old man looked back down to his great-grandson.

“Welcome to the mess that is the 1970s, boy”, he whispered. “Brace yourself; it's going to be a bumpy ride.”

֍


	3. Chapter 3

_(Jean Macdonald, fifteen, is the daughter of Rory Macdonald (born 1928) and grand-daughter of the Fraser Macdonald II in the last story, plus something else that she is about to find out. Edward Watson, also fifteen, is the son of Elizabeth Holmes and Hamon Watson and hence the great-great-grandson of John Watson I)._

**1974**

**Maxwelltown, Dumfries-shire, Scotland**

Jean Macdonald had nearly finished tidying her grandmother's cottage and hoping that there would be no more power cuts any time soon when she found it. A black and white photograph of three handsome gentlemen in swimming-costumes, their arms around each other and, unusually for what was clearly an old photograph, actually grinning at the cameraman. 

“Who are they?” she asked her grandmother casually as her mother Mary came into the room to join them. 

Mary Macdonald's answer nearly made her drop her cup.

“The one on the left is your grandfather, dear.”

She blinked in astonishment at her mother. She had seen pictures of her grandfathers and neither of them looked like that; the recently-passed Fraser Macdonald II had been more beefy that muscular and had had a narrower face and close-cropped hair while Alan Stuart had been short, round-faced and dark-haired. This fellow looked like a model with his muscles and long unkempt hair, which now she thought about it was also odd for that age. 

“Who is it?” she asked eventually.

“He said that he was called Neil”, her grandmother said thoughtfully, “but I do not think that that was his real name. He came to the village one time when the men were away on the boats to help out.”

Her family had, Jean knew, grown up in a fishing village up in Wigtownshire before moving to Dumfries-shire.

“Help out how?” she asked.

“Sex, dear.”

Jean was suddenly glad that she was sitting down. She stared at her grandmother in horror. Her mother smiling knowingly was not helping, either.

“Your grandfather was involved in that accident when he was still only in his early thirties”, her grandmother said as if she was not turning her grand-daughter's world upside-down. “But he and I both wanted more children so when Neil arrived it was a blessing. And it helped that he and his friend Rodney – the one on the right, who we named your brother after – were both hung like horses!”

Jean gasped in horror. Her mother chuckled over the photograph.

“Those costumes were considered risky back then”, she said. “But you can see that he is packing!”

“Mother!”

“I always suspected that the man who came with them, he and they.... were close”, her grandmother smiled. “The way they looked at each other was special. Neil and Rod had dozens of offers to settle with one or other of the women that they slept with but they refused them all. They always seemed happiest when he had finished and could head off with Byron, the fellow in the middle. The odd thing is that all three of them died on the same day twelve years back; Neil or whoever he was left me some money and I remember thinking that they were not parted in life or in death.”

Jean looked at her uncertainly, but her grandmother shook her head.

“Gas leak”, she said. “In a way I am glad they went together even though they were all past ninety at the time.”

Her grand-daughter drank the rest of her tea in one go and wished desperately that it was something stronger.

“Come now, dear”, her mother smiled. “You and that young Eddie Watson? He may not be all there at times but he's a stone fox if ever there was one.”

“Mother! Really!”

“I wonder if _he_ might be photographed in a costume like that”, her grandmother mused. “They are so much tighter these days, and with a lot less material.”

Jean prayed fervently that she was adopted. Or failing that, an apocalypse would be welcome just now. As if she would ever think such a thing!

Well....

Her soon to be ex-relatives both chuckled as she blushed fiercely.

֍


	4. Chapter 4

_(Cholmondeley and Chatton Macdonald, both nine, are the sons of Christopher 'Kristoff' Macdonald who along with their father were abandoned by their mother Edwina Fitzherbert. Their father... coped)._

**1977**

**St. George's Primary School, Lewes, East Sussex, England**

Mrs. Wood paused as she circled the classroom. Asking nine-year-olds to do art was always a chancy business, and she had not been surprised when the Macdonald twins had demanded to work on a picture together. Coming up behind them she saw that it looked very much the standard family picture except for one odd thing.

“What is that, dears?” she asked, pointing to where one of the boys had drawn the outline of a person on the edge of the picture but not filled it it.

“That was our mother”, Chatton said frowning at a blue pencil for some reason. “She left us when we were born.”

Mrs. Wood knew of the boys' past, of course, so just nodded.

“I suppose that is your father”, she said, pointing to a tall man to the right of the house. Cholmondeley nodded.

“Yes, that's him”, he said with a put-upon sigh. “I would have drawn him hugging Flynn, but it was too hard.”

“Who is Flynn?” Mrs. Wood asked, momentarily nonplussed.

“Our other father”, Chatton sighed. “You saw him pick us up the other day miss, remember?”

“But I thought that gentleman's name was Eugene?” she asked.

“It is”, Cholmondeley said, “but Father calls him Flynn. We're afraid to ask why; they're sappy enough as it is. We came into the front room the other day and they were actually _kissing!”_

From the tone of his voice the boy sounded like he had caught his parent doing something criminal. Then again, Mrs. Wood thought to herself, there were some in the area who probably thought it was. Still both men clearly doted on the boys and Mr. Macdonald in particular was very handsome....

She coughed for no particular reason and moved on.

֍


	5. Chapter 5

_(Mary Hawke, twenty-two, is the great-great-grand-daughter of Sherlock Holmes I and the only child of Baron Harry Hawke I's second marriage to Violet Henriksen. Mary does have six half-brothers, but give her time. She is a fourth cousin once removed to twenty-three-year-old Mr. Christian Holmes II, the gentleman that she was definitely not ogling whatever anyone says)._

**1978**

**Lewes, East Sussex, England**

Mary Hawke reminded herself that they no longer had the death penalty in England. And her father had six sons to secure the title. He would surely not miss one reserve, would he?

The reason for her intense annoyance sat smirking at the far end of the dining-table. Perhaps she could offer to go to the kitchen, accidentally pick up a carving knife and 'trip' on her way back....

“Serves you right”, her almost equally annoying other half-brother Trelawney said unsympathetically. “If you will go sneaking into a young man's room you deserve all you get!”

She scowled at him too. The initial cause of her annoyance and complete pain in the ass Thor chuckled; he was about as useless as the current government and that was saying something.

“I had to wipe the drool off afterwards”, he said. “Coming into my room and finding my sister slavering over the _'National Geographic'_ over the Muscled Mountaineer Mr. Christian Holmes wearing his climbing equipment - _and not much else!”_

“I'm sure that May was just looking at our cousin's..... 'equipment'!” Trelawney chuckled.

Mary scowled even more. Her father would not miss two boys... would he?

֍


	6. Chapter 6

**1979 (Earth-time)**

**Heaven**

“But we've not even had forty years of sex!”

Castiel tried not to smile. His mate was so cute when he whined although he would pout for days if the seraph uttered that dreadful word.

Perhaps he might do it anyway....

“Nearly forty years of very good sex”, he reminded his mate who was standing there naked as the day he was born. Which was appropriate as he was about to be. There may or may not have been some rather un-angelic leering (there was).

“Do I _have_ to go back?” Dean not-whined.

“Yes”, Castiel said simply, wishing desperately that the answer could have been no. “You have to be the real Dean Winchester to keep the timeline secure, a brave and fearless hunter who twenty-nine years from now will summon a strange creature called Castiel.”

“Hell, Purgatory, all that crap”, Dean grumbled. “Lilith, Metatron, Lucifer...”

“Metatron is downstairs now, remember?”, Castiel corrected. “ And what little is left of Lucifer is still rather busy with Gadreel.”

Dean frowned. 

“But won't that mean there'll be changes?” he asked.

The ensuing silence was unnerving. Dean glared at his mate.

“Cas....”

“Timeforyoutogo”, the angel said quickly. 

A still objecting Dean vanished mid-glare and a split second later a baby son was born to Mary and John Winchester. No-one could quite work out why the great-great-grandson of the famous author John Watson started life with such a furious expression on his face. And back in Heaven an angel smiled before opening his box from Henriksen's Bakery. After forty years he would _finally_ have a slice of pie to himself!

֍


End file.
